


The Heir

by deadpocts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Slow Burn, he’s bad and an ass, she’s badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29004036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadpocts/pseuds/deadpocts
Summary: “𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋.”in which the heirs of godric gryffindor and salazar slytherin go head to head.
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Character(s), Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	1. deepest desire

"FORTUNE FAVOURS THE brave, my dear," Marcella's mother remarked, placing a swift kiss of fond adieu on the girl's cheek. The platform was notably crowded and bustling with many scenes of farewell, not too dissimilar to what was transpiring with the Barnard family, playing out. The commotion was all a product of the summer having passed and September finally dawning upon them, yielding with it, of course, the annual return to Hogwarts.

For Marcella, parting with her family as she prepared to enter her fifth year at school was more rushed, moving with a far more urgent haste, than it had in previous years. The Barnards weren't an especially sentimental family, so the hurried goodbyes didn't bother any of them particularly. Besides, even if it did bother Marcella she wouldn't dare complain — it would only be selfish of her. Alphonse and Aurelia Barnard were both highly-regarded Aurors, a job that required complete fearlessness as they investigated crimes related to the dark arts and pursued the wizards and witches who caused them. With Grindelwald, arguably the most dangerous dark wizard, still on the run, the time Marcella spent with her parents had become scarce and fleeting as they worked practically day and night to hunt him. 

Alas, Marcella was not rendered on her own for long, as shortly after her parents disappeared back through the wall, she felt a pair of arms wrap themselves effortlessly around her body in one single poised and elegant movement, welcoming her to fall further into the warm and gentle embrace. "Guess who?"

The picture perfect image of pure sophistication; if ever there was a person most desired by boys and girls at Hogwarts alike it was Dahlia Fay. Handsome looks aside — of which, it should be noted, she possessed in abundance; it was her ability to radiate both charm and charisma at any given time which made her an object of pinning for so many. Her mother, Ciana Fay, wrote for the popular Witch Weekly magazine, which ensured Dahlia was always the first to know of the new, up and coming trends — and if she wasn't modelling the newest fashionable cloak, then it was Dahlia herself setting the latest style wants for young witches. After revealing that she wore the Whomping Willow fragrance once in third year, Marcella recalled it selling out entirely at Cosmic Cosmetics in Hogsmeade.

"In the name of Merlin, Salazar Slytherin is that really you?" Marcella joked, earning a genuine laugh from her closest companion. Marcella couldn't quite recall how they'd come to be such good friends — one day they were unfamiliar and the next they were each other's most valued confidant.

Dahlia's arms fell from where they'd been placed around Marcella's body. "Back from the dead — indeed it is I." Dahlia moved from where she'd been stood behind Marcella to the spot right beside her before grabbing both her hand and enclosing it in her tight grip. "Now, how is my favourite prefect?"

"Humbled to know that I've made the top spot." She paused for a moment before continuing to ask, "How does Griffin feel about ranking second?" Griffin being Dahlia's twin brother who had also been named prefect that year. Hardworking, intelligent, and sharp, Griffin was very much your typical studious Ravenclaw and, in Marcella's eyes, much more fit to be a prefect than her. She recalled the day she'd received the letter informing her of new role, and the disbelief with which she'd stared at Dumbledore's delicate scrawl. After eventually coming to the conclusion that there'd been no mistaking in the letter being addressed to her, Marcella decided that Dumbledore was clearly bored out of his mind and was desperately longing for some sort of amusement. However twisted it may be.

"Please!" The way Dahlia laughed at Marcella's comment seemed to suggest it was the most ludicrous thing ever muttered from a wizard's mouth, "he should be thanking Merlin that Troll-faced Mclaggen is a perfect, otherwise that bottom spot would be his."

Marcella couldn't help but let a humourless chuckle slip from her lips in regard to Dahlia's blatant dig at former friend Roman Mclaggen. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it — if anything, Marcella thought he deserved much worse than petty name calling. "Do you think I'll have to patrol with him?" She inquired as they climbed onto the train, beginning down the corridor in search of the final member of their trio.

"Why don't you ask Cosimo about it — he surely has some jurisdiction over it, after all, he is a seventh year."

Thankfully for the two Gryffindors, their search for Jude didn't last long; as his compartment was one of the first they came upon after entering the train. He was sat with his legs crossed on the seat and his head leant back against the window. He didn't notice their presence at first, instead too enwrapped in reading the book he held in his hands. Marcella glanced at the cover. Peter Pan — must be a Muggle story. "Honestly, I'm not sure why Dumbledore made me a prefect. I'm not exactly a model student."

"Yes, but Dumbledore adores you. You could hex a bunch of first years and you'd still be his favourite. See, Griffin may be a bookish nerd and get the perfect OWLs but nobody actually — "

"Don't be mean," Jude warned, looking up from his book for the first time since they'd joined him in the compartment.

"What!" Dahlia exclaimed, throwing her arms up in outrage. "I wasn't mean! When was I mean? Marcie, did I say anything even remotely mean — "

"But you were going to say something mean."

"You can't prove that."

"You're right, I can't," he agreed, turning back to his book. Ever the pacifist, Jude hated confrontation and argument. It was especially notable, considering he was a Gryffindor. Dahlia liked to joke that the sorting hat had undergone a mixup and that its placing Jude in the house of the Lion was a mistake. It made sense seeing as his temperament was much better suited to that of the Badger. Regardless, Marcella was happy they shared the same house and feared life without him close. Though she loved Dahlia extremely, she was no doubt on the eccentric side and Jude's calm disposition certainly complimented it nicely. 

The train jolted slight before beginning to move, the sight of crying parents waving goodbye slowly disappearing as they left the station. "How were your summers?" Marcella asked as she settled further into the seat she'd have to endure for the next set of hours to come.

"Mine was alright, thank you," Jude said, glancing up at her with a soft smile. Marcella responded with a deadpan look that asked if he really thought that short answer would satisfy her. He shrugged his shoulders, "I started working at dad's clock shop to give him an extra hand; and when I wasn't helping him, I was at the beach. Did a few paintings there and stuff. What about yours?"

Jude lived in Cornwall and Dahlia in Gloucestershire, so neither had to endure the treacherous bombing that came with living in London during the muggle war. "I think I'll probably end up spending Christmas with crazy Great Aunt Matilda."

"I just wish we could've written to each other," Dahlia sighed. The ministry had earlier advised that it was best to avoid sending letters by Owl unless absolutely necessary — another consequence of the muggle bombing. "That would've made the summer much more tolerable."

Marcella murmured in agreement. Memories of the bleak summer replayed in her mind, only further solidifying her desire to return to Hogwarts. They would return to spending evenings in the Gryffindor common room, huddled by the fire and gossiping in hushed tones; weekends would be wasted at Hogsmeade as they had the two years prior, drinking butter-beer in The Three Broomsticks and purchasing new pranking products at Zonkos; she'd practice Quidditch most days after school, refining her skills for the upcoming matches whilst Dahlia and Jude cheered from the stands; and the work would be as it always was, long and tiresome. No war, Wizard or Muggle, could bother them at Hogwarts. There, they were untouchable.

"Marcie? Marcie!" Dahlia exclaimed, tearing Marcella away from her deep thoughts. "There's someone here to see you." She gestured to the window where Cosmio Halbert, Gryffindor Quidditch captain and seventh year Prefect, was stood, waving to her as he waited.

"Merlin's beard, I forgot." Marcella jumped up from her seat, grabbing her bag and making her way towards the compartment door before turning back to face her two best friends. "There's a prefects meeting. I'll see you both later, okay?" They both bid Marcella farewell as she exited the compartment.

She glanced up at Cosimo, who had an amused look etched across his face. "You didn't forget did you, Barnard? First day as a prefect and you're already forgetting your duties. Disappointing, really — " Marcella's foot came rushing down onto his, Cosimo letting out a loud yelp as they came into contact. "You'll regret that. Once this year is over and I'm gone for good, you'll wish you were nicer to me."

"Doubt it," Marcella remarked, following Cosimo as he began to move up the corridor.

"Oh come on, Barnard, you know you'll miss me." She pretended to ponder on the thought for a moment, though all jokes aside she knew he was right. Marcella had been nestled under Cosimo's wing ever since he'd taken her under it in her first year, and to imagine Hogwarts without him would certainly be strange. "You don't need to worry about patrolling with you know who because according to Cassian, Odette is keen on introducing a house exclusive patrolling initiative." Marcella let out a deep sigh of relief at the news. Thank Merlin for that.

"HE'S BEEN LOOKING at you this entire time," Dahlia announced, her matter-of-fact tone seeming to suggest that Marcella hadn't already been aware of Roman's intense, lingering stare. "It's creepy."

As mad as she was at him — and as mad as she knew she would continue to be — Marcella had to admit that it was very odd not to have Roman sat beside her. The cheers were an awful lot quieter without him close by, and the chatter slightly less boisterous. Was it bad, that despite the lengths he'd gone to the prior year to make her miserable, she missed the warmth of his presence? No, she decided — considering how the two of them had been friends since practically birth, it was perfectly normal for her to feel the way she did.

"Ignore it," Jude mouthed, his hand reaching across the table to find hers and give it a gentle squeeze.

Although she tried to, her attempt was almost entirely unsuccessful. Every time she tried to divert her thoughts to something else, such as the delicious desserts that had just appeared on the table or the story Dahlia had begun relaying to Septimus Weasley, she would catch his heated gaze and be reminded of all the years of friendship he'd carelessly thrown away.

Marcella breathed a sigh of relief when Dippet stood up to announce to the hall that the feast had drawn to a close and students would now begin to make their way off to bed. Thankfully for her, she didn't have to worry about showing first years back to the common room because according to Odette Darwin, the Head Girl, that responsibility fell to the seventh year prefects. Cosimo had been right when he told her about Odette's house exclusive patrolling scheme, which she promised to explain in greater detail at the next meeting. Marcella hoped to be paired up with Griffin, who wasn't anywhere near as bad as Dahlia liked to make him out to be — in fact, Marcella had always found him to be a very easy person to spend time with.

"Did that feel longer than usual for you lot as well?" Dahlia asked, her hands respectively finding both Marcella's and Jude's and enclosing them in her hold. Hand-holding had quickly become a common occurrence for the trio, so much so that now very little thought was given to it and it all felt very natural. Despite arguably being the least affectionate of the three, Marcella believed there was a great sense of comfort in knowing that there was always someone happy to take your hand and hold it tight.

"I think there are more first years," Jude murmured in agreement.

"Yes, I think so too." The conversation was undeniably trivial, but not one of them seemed to cared too much — rather just happy to be back at Hogwarts and with each other.

Being at the back of the large crowd of Gryffindors meant Marcella, Dahlia and Jude were some of the last to enter the common room. If anything being in the final few worked out well for them as by the time the blazing hearth came into view much of the common room was empty, save for the few people that were scattered around.

"I'm going to go up and unpack all my things," Dahlia announced, individually turning to both of her friends and placing a soft kiss on their cheek. "Goodnight." Marcella and Jude watched as she disappeared up the stairs— neither were particularly ready to go to bed yet but knew they'd follow suit shortly.

"I forgot to tell you on the train but I have something for you." Jude placed a hand into his jacket pocket, his fingers rummaging around in there for a moment before he pulled something out. At first glance it appeared to be a regular postcard, likely purchased from one of the many small shops that adorned the Cornish seaside, though after a glance at the over side, a smile grew on Marcella's face as she recognised what it was. "I meant it when I said I did a lot of painting over the summer. Thought you might like one."

Marcella's eyes honed in on the painting of the beach, studying the artistry that lay in the intricate brush strokes and the colours that embellished the page. "I love it. Thank you." She flung her arms around Jude and enclosed him in a warm hug. A moment passed where neither said anything.

"Don't let Mclaggen bother you," he whispered into the crook of her neck, his voice so soft it was almost as though he hadn't even spoke. "You're so much better than he is."

"I won't," she said, hoping to convince both herself and Jude.

He sighed, "I missed you so much, Marcie." Marcella could tell that it had been a lonesome summer for him, She knew, not only because she'd grown to know Jude as though he were tattooed on the back of her hand, but because it had been a devastatingly lonely summer for her too and she recognised the relief that laced his tone.

"I missed you too, Jude."

The two departed soon after that, Marcella citing that she couldn't bare to face Dahlia's pestering if she stayed in the common room for any longer. When she arrived in her dorm, she was greeted with the expected, "didn't have a party without me, did you?" Dahlia was already in bed, an eye mask resting on her head and the latest issue of Which Witch Weekly open in her hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Marcella winked.

There were three fifth year girls other than Marcella and Dahlia in Gryffindor. Frances Aberdare, who'd been the first in their year to be sorted back in September of 1938, was the only muggle born in the dorm and taught Marcella much of what she knew about muggle culture. For the most part, Frances enjoyed introducing aspects of Muggle life to her dorm-mates — the only exception that came to mind being Monopoly, which she'd presented to them back in their third year. It hard forced her to learn the disastrous consequences of trying to teach four loud, highly competitive Gryffindors a board game the hard way. She always had her hair put up in an a practical bun, which Marcella believed to be a great reflection of her character — pragmatic, no-nonsenses and hard working.

Sat on the bed positioned beside Dahlia's and kicking her converse, of which had been gifted by Frances, against the wooden frame was Edna Harrison. In the four full years they'd been at Hogwarts, Edna had coveted a well-deserved reputation for being the human epitome of sunshine. At Quidditch Matches, Edna could always be found cheering from the Gryffindor Stalls the loudest, and was seemingly always prepared to share her infectious enthusiasm and joy with those around her.

Finally there was Gwynn Wolfe, who's head was most often found in a book and voice was laced with a thick Russian accent — a product of her infamous noble Moscow bloodline. Though Marcella knew that Gwynn was likely the smartest in the room, she was also aware that she struggled greatly when it came to applying herself in lessons. Marcella imagined it didn't help that she'd taken quite the liking to muggle cigarettes, which not only made it more probable that she'd skip class to spend time by the lake, but also left the dorm room stinking of cheap tobacco and smoke.

Marcella didn't have to pretend to be asleep for too long before the entirety of her dorm had all fallen asleep. Careful to avoid the floor creaking, she slid her feet into her black oxfords and crept out of the room. Practice had allowed her to hone her skill to such an extent that not one of her dorm mates woke. On one of her first tries at sneaking out, she'd opened the door with too much force and the noise had roused Frances from her sleep. "What are you do?" She'd inquired, her hands rubbing wearily at her eyes.

"Bathroom," she remembered remarking. "I'll be right back." Of course she hadn't been right back, but thankfully for Marcella, Frances was too tired to stay up and catch her out.

Making her way out of the common room without alerting anyone was far easier than most would like suspect. Marcella thought there was likely some irony in the situation — she hadn't even been a prefect for twenty-four hours and yet here she was, breaking a number of rules. Besides, it wasn't as though the title had been given to her out of well-deserved merit. She knew that Dumbledore fancied a drama, and what spectacle was better than forcing two former friends who'd experienced a horribly public, nasty falling-out to spend time with each other.

Marcella thought very highly of the man but couldn't deny the fact that he was, at heart, a terrible old gossip.

If all seemed to be going well for Marcella, that changed very quickly when she turned the corner and felt the sharp impact of suddenly slamming into another body. She let out a tiny yelp, a hand rising to nurse the spot on her forehead where it hurt most. Once she'd regained a semblance of her sense of balance, Marcella looked upwards — her eyes consequently landing upon Hogwarts' highly regarded golden boy and prodigal son in the making, Tom Riddle. Despite being in the same year and sharing many classes, Marcella knew very little of him besides his infamous reputation. His cold gaze shot downwards to look at her. She was sure she noticed his eye's flash with something that certainly contradicted his well-documented charming personality, but before she could come to any decisive judgement, a stoic expression was painted across his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

Before Marcella could really gain a sense of what was happening, she caught glimpse of Tom's hand slipping into his pocket. Determined to not let him get away with thinking he'd outwitted her, Marcella pulled out her own wand in one quick and precise moment. While his wand was now pointed directly at her, hers was focused on him — making their ground pretty much even.

"I won't say anything if you don't," she announced, her tight grip on her wand not once faltering. He blinked, clearly taking a moment to ponder on her offer before lowering his wand slightly.

"Deal," the word fell from his mouth with an elegant drawl and was signed off with his famed, signature smile. Though she returned his grin with an overly friendly one of her one, she couldn't help but think back, as the two went their separate ways, to the look of pure rage, an anger unlike any she'd witness, that she could've sworn coloured his face.

If Marcella hadn't been so determined to make it to her destination, then perhaps she would've felt more curiosity in regard to where Tom was going — though that did not stop the thoughts that wondered why he was so quick in drawing his wand. Was his squeaky clean reputation so sacred that he'd rather hex someone than risk a stain? These sorts of thoughts kept Marcella entertained until she eventually arrived at the empty classroom.

A simple "Alohamora" was all that was necessary to open the door. She had often thought about putting a better lock on the door, one that would require a spell more complicated than Alohamora to break, but always remembered that without the simple charm she would've never found the place and if someone managed to successfully make their way to the spot then they deserved to bask in its wonders. Though, with that being said, Marcella absolutely abhorred the idea of having to share her sacred place with someone else.

A gentle smile tugged at her lips when the mirror came into sight. She'd discovered the mirror in her second year — accidentally stumbling across it in a competitive game of hide and seek Frances had suggested that they all play — and since then, had made it a habit to visit as frequently as she could. The image of herself, clad in Auror's uniform and yielding a silver sword, was one that brought her a great sense of comfort.

Marcella positioned herself in front of the mirror, her knees pulled inwards and resting against her chest. If she could, she knew she would be more than content to spend the entire night there — studying the version of herself in the reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is more of an introduction than anything else — i promise it picks up soon! thanks for reading and please leave kudos/comment if you’re enjoying <33


	2. gryffindor extraordinaire

MARCELLA'S FEET POUNDED against the cobbled floor, pure adrenaline coursing through her veins. To her, there was nothing quite like the thrill of running. The feeling of the air rushing past ignited something inside her and despite her heart's loud thumping and heavy breaths, nothing made her feel more alive.

"Hurry up, slow-broom — old Dippet runs faster than you!" Marcella exclaimed, momentarily turning her head as to spare a glance in Dahlia's direction. While she wasn't miles behind, Marcella certainly didn't have to fear her outrunning her anytime soon.

"Oh, shut it!"

She didn't see what Dahlia was getting so defensive about, the observation was accurate and, after all, it was mostly her fault they were going to be late. Had Dahlia woken her up like she'd assured Frances she was going to then they wouldn't be in this mess at all.

To make already disagreeable matters worse, it wasn't just any old class they were running behind for. Marcella anticipated the longwinded lecture that awaited them — Dumbledore's furrowed brow and the disappointment she imagined would lace his tone as he announced that he expected better from them.

The pattering of feet came to a halt as the two girls arrived outside the Transfiguration classroom. Was there to be any sort of salvation? A nearby invisibility cloak or even a secret door — it didn't particularly matter what, so long as it would provide them with a way to make it to their seats without detection. "How bad do you think this is going to be?"

"Pretty bad." Marcella shot her best friend a disbelieving look, as if to say really? — just pretty bad? An exaggerated groan fell from Dahlia's lips, "very bad, Marcie, okay? It's going to be very bad."

"Son of a bludger."

"I have an idea," Dahlia announced, a sly smile beginning to tug at the ends of her lips. "Why don't you and I just skip this period and spend it in our dorm? We'll use this time as a catch up and if Dumbledore asks we'll tell him we came down with a case of dragon pox." Marcella shook her head, it certainly sounded appealing and for any other teacher the lie might pass, but this was Dumbledore they were talking about and she doubted he would believe it. Dahlia pretended to ponder on the thought for a moment, "okay then. How about you and I change our names and move to an island on the over side of the world where Dumbledore will never be able to find us?"

"Merlin's beard, why didn't I think of that?" Marcella remarked back, the level of sarcasm in her tone equal to that of Dahlia's previous comment. Marcella believed it was one of the reasons they got on so well — the ability they both shared when it came to keeping up with the other's sharp wit.

As much as she wished to avoid it, Marcella knew that prolonging things would only make matters worse. "What do you say; on the count of three?"

"One ... two ... three."

On the count of three, the door suddenly swung open; in turn, revealing both Marcella and Dahlia to the entirety of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Transfiguration class. Stood at the front of the class, leaning against the desk with an amused grin lingering on his face, was Albus Dumbledore. "Not interrupting something, am I?"

Marcella quickly feigned a sickly sweet smile, "not at all, sir."

"Is there a good reason for your tardiness?"

"Got lost?" She offered as a suggestion, consequently earning a series of sniggers from a number of her classmates. Even Dahlia had to raise a hand to her mouth to muffle her giggles. However, the comment didn't seem the frustrate Dumbledore, who, if anything, still looked entirely entertained by the situation.

"If that's truly the case then perhaps I ought to teach you how to transfigure an object into a map of the school. Alas, until then — Miss Fay, Miss Barnard — I ask you to please take your seats." The professor gestured to the only two empty seats remaining, both of them at the desk closest to his. Nice one, old man, Marcella thought to herself, her gaze returning to Dumbledore to send him a look of recognition. He smiled as if he were able to see what she were thinking, "I like to call it tardy tax."

Begrudgingly, Marcella and Dahlia accepted their fate and made their way towards their seats. Had that been all her punishment, Marcella would've pleasantly resigned any complaints about having the worse seat in the class, but she knew Dumbledore too well, and because of that suspected that he still had a trick or two up his sleeve. "Would anyone care to fill Miss Fay and Miss Barnard in on what they missed?" A hand shot up. "Yes, Mr Fay."

Marcella couldn't but laugh at the distinct scowl that appeared on Dahlia's face at the mention of Griffin. "We were just discussing the basic outline for the course this year as we begin to prepare ourself for our OWLs."

"Thank you, Mr Griffin. As I'm sure you all know, at the end of this year, you will be sitting your Ordinary Wizarding Levels. These examinations will determine whether or not you'll be permitted to take certain subjects for NEWTs, which could consequently effect your ability to obtain a particular job." Dumbledore paused for a moment, seemingly pondering on something, before continuing, "A quick word of warning for those who have a tendency to get lost, should you arrive late to any of your OWL examinations you can expect immediate disqualification."

Although Marcella found Dumbledore's jokes rather amusing, much of his teasing died down after that — instead, choosing to focus on introducing the basics of the vanishing spell, a crucial part of the practical element of the exam, to the class. Marcella was aware that a career in the author department, like most things in life, would not come easily, and in turn was determined to word hard when it came to her schoolwork. With that in mind, she made a sincere effort to listen to all of what Dumbledore was saying and note down all the necessary points on her parchment.

Though Dahlia's notes were more beautifully presented, her keen calligraphy skills rightfully outshining Marcella's messy scrawl in every sense, she finished the lesson feeling content with the level of detail she'd applied to her writing.

"Miss Barnard, would you please stay behind? There are a few things I'd like to discuss with you." Marcella's eyes widened slightly at the mention of her name. Had Dumbledore not noticed her effort to redeem her tardiness? I'll wait for you outside, Dahlia mouthed after she'd finished collecting up all her things. "That won't be necessary, Miss Fay. You wouldn't want to be late for two lesson today now, would you?"

Dahlia shook her head, offering her friend one final sympathetic look before leaving to join Jude outside. "What about me, sir?" She inquired, hesitantly hovering by edge of the desk. "I don't want to be late to potions either."

He laughed, instantly catching whiff of her attempt to make an excuse. "Don't fret, Miss Barnard. I'll write a note for you. Though from what I've head, I highly doubt you'd need it — word has it your on the shortlist for Slughorn's elite society. I must say, you've rendered me quite impressed."

"Why? Does the idea of other professors liking me really surprise you?" 

"Of course it doesn't — why else would I have made you a prefect?" Now that Marcella was speaking to him face-to-face, she didn't have the heart to tell him that she thought of him as a terrible busybody. She shrugged her shoulders. "I think, if anything, my faith in your abilities far exceeds your own."

She wondered exactly how great his faith was, but to compare the comment's accuracy she'd have to know what she thought of herself. Truthfully, she didn't know what regard she held herself — she liked to think she was justly prideful about her abilities but still able to recognise her faults when necessary. 

"What was it you wanted to discuss with me?"

"I wanted you to know that I was happy with the work you were producing at the end of the lesson. If you keep applying yourself like that then I'm certain you'll pass your OWLs with flying colours." A certain sense of content seemed to settle in Marcella's chest.

"I won't be late again," the words flew from her mouth before she could really register the promise she'd made. She wanted to mean it but couldn't help but question the likelihood of it.

"I'd like to think so." Dumbledore retreated to his desk, ripping off a small amount of parchment before quickly scribbling something down. "Take this to Slughorn and tell him that I apologise for keeping you. Try not to get lost on your way."

Marcella offered the professor a wry smile, wondering to herself how long it would take for him to stop teasing.

Unsurprisingly to anyone, Marcella managed to make her way down to the dungeons without once wrongly straying. Her mind thought back to Dumbledore's announcing that she was garnered to be a member of Slughorn's chosen few, and with it the sincere surprise that accompanied the news. As far as Marcella had been concerned, she was faceless to her potion professor, talented enough to pass by the class with little trouble but not — now, what was the right word — green enough to receive any great praise. 

She pushed the wooden door open, the deafening creak alerting everyone of her presence in the room. "I'm so sorry, Sir. Professor Dumbledore — "

"Miss Barnard!" Slughorn exclaimed, a hearty grin adorning his face. It was odd for many reasons, one of them being that she was certain he'd never said her name with so much enthusiasm before. Marcella's eyes found Dahlia's in the crowd of students, silently asking something along the vein of, what in merlin's name is going on? She shook her head, looking only slightly dazed — you tell me. "I was just beginning to get worried. Lovely to finally see you, please come join us." 

"Professor Dumbledore wrote a note for me — "

"Nonsense! All that matters is your here now." Very well, Marcella though to herself, taking her place beside Dahlia and Jude in the crowd that had gathered around his desk. What sort of idiot would she be to object to that? "Now, can anyone tell me what this potion is here?"

"Did you spike his pumpkin juice or something?" Dahlia inquired, her voice hushed and wide eyes travelling back and forth between Slughorn and Marcella. "Seriously, Marcie, I wouldn't be mad if you did. Of course, I wish you would've told me — "

"Excellent, Mr Riddle!" Slughorn's voice boomed. "Ten points to Slytherin."

"See, Dahlia. If Marcie had really spiked his drink then why would he be giving points to Slytherin?" Jude noted, retrieving a piece of muggle chewing gum from his pocket and placing it in his mouth. "Besides, even if Marcie had why on earth would she tell you? You have the largest mouth in England."

Dahlia feigned a look of shook, "Jude Ernst Delaney, you take that back right now!"

Marcella chuckled, feeling more than content with spending the rest of potions listening to her best friends jokingly bicker. She thought it was quite the testament to their bond — even after months spent apart from each other, they could fall back into their rhythm so easily it was as though no day had passed where they weren't together.

Slughorn had told them all to find a desk and note down the five potions he'd introduced to them that lesson. Barely a minute has passed since Marcella had begun writing before she noticed the heat of a pair of eyes lingering on her parchment. "Marvellous notes, Miss Barnard. Truly marvellous."

"Thank you, Sir."

Marcella set her quill down on the table so she could pay Slughorn her full attention. "I'm not sure if you know, but I like to host a little gathering at the beginning of every year with a select few students." He revealed his hand from where it had been held behind his back before placing a tiny envelope labelled 'Miss M. Barnard.' beside her parchment. "All the details about the evening are in the invitations. Oh, and you're invited too, Miss Fay." He announced, turning his focus towards Dahlia and producing a second envelope. Marcella watched as Dahlia eyed her own invitation eagerly. "Your mother tells me you have a real affinity for evening parties. I do look forward to seeing you both there."

THAT WEEK PASSED QUICKLY and with it, came the swift arrival of Slughorn's dinner party. Dahlia had written to her mother the day they'd received the invitation, insisting that she needed a new pair of dress robes immediately. Ciana Fay was only too happy to oblige, sending Dahlia a silk, short sleeved magenta dress the following breakfast. She'd even offered to send something for Marcella, who'd ultimately politely declined and decided on a smart shirt and pair of dress pants instead.

Jude didn't seem too bothered by being the only one of the three not to receive an invite. Unlike Dahlia, he wasn't particularly keen on parties. "You can tell me all about when you get back," he'd announced before they'd left the common room. At that, a brilliant smile grew on Dahlia's face and she leant in to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"A man after my own heart!"

The walk from the Gryffindor Tower to Slughorn's office by the Dungeons was filled with teasing remarks and sweet laughter. Marcella wasn't certain on the exact list of people that would be making an appearance at the dinner, but felt safely in presuming that Tom Riddle and some, if not all, members of his group of Slytherin would be there. After all, Slughorn made no effort to hide his obvious partisanship towards Tom Riddle.

The potion master's office was much larger than it appeared on the outside — Marcella presumed Slughorn had enchanted the place to make it that way — and yet was filled almost entirely with people. From what she gathered after sparing a quick glance of the room, she supposed that out of the three years invited there were at least half a dozen people from each.

"Why is Griffin here?" Dahlia frowned, her spotting of her twin forcing Marcella to end her study of the room. She hadn't spoken to Griffin once in the week since they'd arrived back at Hogwarts, mostly because she'd spent all of her time attached to Dahlia's hip, but made a note to self to greet him at some point later on in the evening. "Do you mind?" She used her head to gesture to where Griffin was stood by the fireplace. Marcella nodded.

"Go — I'll grab us some drinks."

With that, Marcella and Dahlia went their separate ways — Dahlia to pick a fight with her younger, by eight minutes, brother, and Marcella to get some exploding lemonade. However, her mission was immediately sidetracked once she realised that Slughorn and some other man — whoever he was exactly, she didn't know but he definitely wasn't a student — had gathered just by the drinks table.

"Miss Barnard, how lovely it is to see you!" Marcella greeted the man with a friendly smile though was unsure of what to make of his overly enthusiastic greeting. Perhaps tonight she'd learn why he'd developed such a sudden fascination. Slughorn turned to the dark haired man beside him — by Marcella's estimate, he looked no more than fifteen years out of Hogwarts. "Kyros, you must meet our new Gryffindor extraordinaire, Marcella Barnard. Miss Barnard, this is Kyros Evander."

Evander offered out his hand for Marcella to shake. She obliged. "Firm grip you have there, Miss Barnard," he noted with a wry hand, sliding his hand from out of her hold and placing it back in his pocket.

"So I've been told."

Slughorn chuckled, watching the interaction with keen interest glistening in his eyes. "Perhaps you've heard of his book, Effervescent Elixirs — it's quite the read for a young potions scholar like yourself, of course. Did I tell you, Kyros, that our Miss Barnard got full marks on her Potions end of year."

Ah, so there was the reason for Slughorn's sudden enthusiasm about her. If she'd known it was so easy to win his affections she might've made more of an effort in potions earlier.

"Only one, well, if you don't count — Tom! Tom, my boy!" At Slughorn's calling, Tom Riddle's head instantly spun around. Marcella's lips formed a straight line. She'd given much thought to Riddle since quite literally running into him on the first night of term. Still, she remembered the willingness he'd displayed when it came to drawing his wand and the fiery anger that had blazed in his eyes. Her posture stiffened slightly as he came over to join the group.

"Hello, Professor. I must commend you for hosting skills, the evening has been magnificent so far — thank you again for inviting me."

Bootlicker, Marcella thought bitterly to herself.

"Nonsense, my boy, what kind of party would it be without you? Kyros, this is Tom Riddle. I'd say that if we're not careful Tom will be Minister of Magic quicker than you or I can say Hippogriff." Marcella made an effort to join in on their laughter, but imagined to anyone with hearing that her attempt sounded nothing but highly superficial. "And Tom, this is Kyros Evander."

"Author of Effervescent Elixirs?" Marcella desperately wanted to roll her eyes — of course he knew. It was quickly becoming clear to the Gryffindor why Tom and her barely interacted.

"Yes — though I imagine you're the only student in this castle who's read it," Evander joked as he took Tom's hand and gave it a quick shake. Marcella appreciated his saying that, now feeling slightly less guilty about not having the slightest clue about who he was.

"Tom, I'm sure you know Miss Barnard."

"Marcella," he gave her a polite nod of the head. Had it not been for the small charming smile, a glimpse of the gold and glitter he was famed for, she would've been certain that he was internally planning her demise. His eyes appeared colder than an icy winter's day and seemed dead set on staring her down.

"Tom," she forced a grin.

"The future of the potions world are standing here this evening, I tell you! I don't think anyone's got one hundred on their end of year since you, Kyros." Marcella was sure she'd noticed Tom's grip on his drink tighten. Oh, did a little competition scare him so much so? "Oh my! Look at the time, we better sit down to eat — how it does flies when your having such fun!"

Marcella reconnected with Dahlia — who'd apparently given Griffin a stern talking to in regard to 'gatecrashing' her evening — and the two sat down at the table. However, and very much to her surprise, Evander pulled out the chair on the other side. "You don't mind my sitting here, Miss Barnard, do you?"

"Of course not."

"Who's he?" Dahlia inquired immediately, making absolutely no effort to be discreet in her questioning.

Evander chuckled, "Kyros Evander, you?"

It came as no surprise to either of the girls that he'd overheard. "Dahlia Fay," she offered him her sweetest smile, her arm reaching out over Marcella to give Evander her hand. "Lovely to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Fay." Dahlia's eyes practically lit up at that response, alerting Evander that it had certainly been the right thing to say. Marcella couldn't help but laugh quietly to herself as she felt Dahlia's hand pass back over her own body as it returned to her lap after giving Evander a handshake.

The house elves entered the room shortly after that, each bringing with them a silver platter for an individual person at the table. Marcella quietly thanked the one assigned to her, though the creature only shrivelled their nose in disgust at her attempt to relay her gratitude. She noted that the words 'Slug Club' were engraved onto the cutlery.

"Do start, everyone!" Slughorn announced, gesturing for them all to begin their plate of beef and roast potatoes. Having had to skip lunch to complete some last minute Charms homework, Marcella immediately tucked in, devouring the food at an insatiably fast rate. Dahlia dismissed her best friend's poor table manners with a sharp shake of her head, muttering something about having to teach her some dinner ettiequte before Slughorn's next party under her breath.

"Marcella," Evander began, his mouth still full of beef. "I'd meant to ask you earlier but are you of any relation to Matilda Barnard?"

Marcella took a moment to swallow the food she had in her mouth — knowing that if she didn't, Dahlia would undoubtedly scold her for it. "Yes, she's my great aunt. Do you know her?"

"I had the pleasure of meeting her at a book event organised by Flourish and Blotts. A fearsome lady — would it be bold of me to make the assumption that you have her spirit?"

"Cross me and you'll have your answer."

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"Marcie's got the nastiest temperament," Dahlia announced, neatly placing the knife and fork down on her plate. "In our third year, I hid her broomstick and she tricked me into eating an earwax flavoured bean. Wicked."

"Dahlia's lucky that I love her, if not I might've hexed her for it," he laughed, not entirely sure whether she was joking or not. What Dahlia'd failed to mention when relaying the story to Evander was that the broom had been a present from her parents after she'd received a place on the Gryffindor team. Marcella recalled the event as the only time she'd ever felt truly mad at her best friend — in the end she hated the feeling so much that she vowed to never get angry at her again.

"You're a Quidditch player, huh?"

"She's only Gryffindor's best chaser," Dahlia grinned.

"Do you play too, Dahlia?" He inquired, the look in his eyes seeming to suggest he was genuinely interested in their discussion. Whilst parties weren't so much Marcella's forte as they were Dahlia's, she was rather enjoying herself. 

"Oh! Merlin's beard, no!"

Evander just laughed. "I was the keeper for the Slytherin team my final year at school. Though, I suppose by then my boyish dream to play for the Caerphilly Catapults had worn off. Have you set your sights on playing for any teams, Marcella." She shook her head. "Good — I think it would break Horace's heart."

"I'm not going to become some potions master either."

"Some potions master? Is that what you really think of my career path?" She hadn't meant to offend — though she was pretty sure Evander was only teasing — instead just so certain of her destined path being that of an auror that the idea of anything else seemed absurd. Blasphemous, even. "What do you plan on becoming then?"

"An auror."

"Of course. How could I forget? It's in the family, isn't it? Mummy's an auror, Daddy's an auror — Great Aunt's the most famous auror of the twentieth century." He cracked a slight smile, "well, in the event that you change your mind you should probably know that I'm always happy to take on young apprentices."

Marcella's face softened. She doubted she would change her mind, the idea of being an auror had become so engrained in her mind that it seemed impossible to do anything else, but she greatly appreciated his offer regardless. "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope ur all liking so far, i promise it picks up soon!! thank you to all the people who have left kudos <33


	3. healing wounds

TOM WAS ANGRY. NO, correction — Tom was fuming. Scathing hot rage was coursing through his bloodstream and the colour red had painted the entirety of his vision. He envisioned a series of his fantasies playing out before him, imagining it as though he were a king and a group of jesters were performing for him. Be it with an ancient dark curse or a sharp-edged silver knife, all of of them ended with her blood seeping through her white dress shirt. 

He watched her intently from where he was sat across the table, his nose flared and lips meeting at a dead-straight line, as she laughed at something Kyros Evander had told her. It was a terrible sound, Tom decided — hearty and reminiscent of a warm, crackling fire, the kind Tom imagined would be blazing in her treacherous common room. 

Since when had Marcella Barnard been so good at potions?

It was one of the many questions that haunted him, even after the dinner party was over and breakfast had begun the following morning. Why had Evander offered her an apprenticeship? Tom had been returning to his seat after a trip to the bathroom when he'd heard him relay his invitation to her. Perhaps it had something to do with a lusty desire he felt for her but Tom still questioned it — her features were far too awkward looking for her to be considered anything more than fairly pretty.

"Is there something interesting going on over at the Gryffindor Table, Malfoy?" Avery joked, a series of obnoxious sniggers tumbling from his lips. 

Abraxas' eyes instantly widened, clearly so emerged in his own thoughts that he failed to recognised what Avery'd said. Out of all his followers, Tom was certain that he liked Abraxas the most — he was smart, thoughtful, and unlike the others had little time for petty teasing. Though most important of all, he had the best connections. "What?" 

"Haven't got a crush on Fay, have you?"

"Merlin Malfoy, she'd eat you up and spit you out!" Lestrange announced, howling as though he was some sort of wild, deranged animal. Tom was thoroughly unamused. 

"That is quite enough, Nox," Tom seethed, his tone more than poisonous enough to quickly shut Lestrange up. With the annoying background noise Lestrange and Avery were serving now silenced, Tom returned to reading the new issue of the Daily Prophet, feeling slightly less irritated. His eyes trailed the double-spread page, intaking the current affairs with a lazed attitude. There were no new updates on Grindelwald. Tom thought that matter was appalling — certain that if he was proclaimed the darkest wizard of the age then he could suffice a much better job. He felt his jaw tighten slightly when he turned the page and came across the article headline, 'AUROR LEGEND, MATILDA BARNARD, SPILLS ON GRINDELWALD'S NEXT MOVES.' 

Barnard, he repeated the name over in his head. Marcella's surname. He couldn't seem to escape her. Tom closed the newspaper and placed it down on the table. "Abraxas," he began, "what do you know about Marcella Barnard?" 

Tom, like all the other Knights, was fully aware of Abraxas' infatuation with Dahlia Fay. Whilst he'd previously been determined to stamp out his schoolyard crush — there was no room for such childhish feelings in a cause as important as theirs — Fay was incidentally Barnard's closest confident and he imagined the nature of his connection could prove to be useful in regard to garnering information. 

"Well, what do you want to know?" 

Tom scoped the Knights to get a sense of their reactions. He could see that a teasing remark lay on the tip of Lestrange's tongue, though hoped he knew far better than to risk the consequences of it escaping his mouth. Avery let out a loud chortle, "Amory walked in on her once whilst she was in the changing room. Didn't you said she had glorious — "

"I recall asking Abraxas, not you Caius." Tom had no time for whatever crude direction Avery's story was taking.

Abraxas took a deep breath before beginning, "for starters, her entire family are known for being some of the best dark wizard catchers of all time." He paused, clearly taking a moment to carefully plot his upcoming points. Tom appreciated that kind of thoughtfulness, of which, he thought, both Avery and Lestrange painfully lacked. "She's a chaser on the Quidditch team and one of the new Gryffindor prefects, though I'm sure you know that."

"Notable friends? Enemies?" 

"She seems to get on pretty well with most people. That being said, word has it she had quite a big falling out with Roman Mclaggen." Tom quirked a brow, urging Abraxas to continue. While he'd rather drink a vile of poison than enlist Mclaggen's help, this was certainly interesting information. "He went around telling everyone that she couldn't take no for an answer after he rejected her. She denies professing love for him in the first place."

"Anything else I should know?" Though Abraxas shook his head, Tom could sense that he was holding back and made a mental note to question him about it later. "Very well." 

Tom stood up from the table, collecting his copy of the Prophet arm before turning to address everyone, "we'll be having a meeting tonight at eight. I have some important work to attend to, so you best not bother me until then. Is that understood?"

The knights offered him a unanimous nod. 

Across the hall at the Gryffindor table, Marcella, Dahlia and Jude finished up their breakfast and prepared themselves for a day of carefree lazying around the castle. "I still can't believe you said no to him, Marcie," Dahlia exclaimed after finishing relaying her versions of the previous evening's events to Jude. Marcella was quite amazed at his never straying patient nature — he was certainly the best listener she knew. "He was awfully nice."

"Are you honestly surprised?" Jude asked, shovelling a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. "She's been telling since first year that she'd become an auror. No matter how attractive you claim he was, she'd never change her mind. Marcie's stubborn to a fault." 

"I know! She probably came out of the womb telling the healers that she was going to be an auror when she grew up."

Marcella couldn't help but scoff at Dahlia's exaggeration. "Please do continue to talk about me as if I'm not right here."

"Happy to." Dahlia signed the words off with a sickly sweet sarcastic smile. "I wish he'd offered me the potions apprenticeship instead. Maybe if I read his book — what did you say it was called? Something about Elixirs, right? Well, whatever it's called, I'll buy it next time we go to Hogsmeade. You'll have to tell me your secrets on how to get Slughorn to adore you, of course. I imagine that will help lots."

"All down to my natural charm, I'm afraid."

She feigned a loud laugh, "please Marcie, we both know I'm far more charming than you."

"Humble too," Jude added. 

Before Dahlia could respond to Jude, Cosimo appeared behind them and slid into the empty space on the bench. "Morning all. Had a good first week back?" Dahlia instantly dove into telling him about the treacherous amounts of homework they'd got, whilst Jude offered him a short nod and warm smile instead."You're in fifth year now, Fay — you're were always going to have start working hard at some point. Barnard, you got a moment?" 

"Sure." She collected her cutlery and placed it down on her plate. "What do you need?"

"Just wanted to remind you that we have Quidditch tryouts today at three." Marcella quirked a brow at him, not quite sure why she was expected to attend the tryouts when she was already on the team. "Didn't I tell you, Barnard? All spots are up for grabs — if you want to stay on the team then you're going to have to fight for it."

"You'd lose the cup without me." 

"She's right," Dahlia announced, rather uncharacteristically considering she usually avoided conversations about the sport as if they were a plague. 

"Then you'll be happy to prove it to me this afternoon — unless you're think you've lost your edge?" Cosimo shrugged his shoulders, a smug smile lingering on his lips. Marcella imagined he got a great sense of amusement out of teasing her seeing as he did it often. She didn't have to assure herself to know that she would get her own back on him later.

"You're on." 

UNSURPRISING TO ABSOLUTELY no one present at the Gryffindor Quidditch team tryouts that Saturday Afternoon, Marcella's name was the first spoken when Cosimo announced the list of players. Much of the team was the same as it has been the previous year — seventh year Ezra Alderton was still keeper, Cosimo and Cliff Beck, in the year above, would be chasers with her like they had since her third year, and, much to Marcella's profound disappointment, Roman remained a beater. New to the team was Darius Weasley, who was overly ecstatic at the fact, and Emelie Durant, a redhead third year who was now their seeker. It was certainly a daunting role, seeker, but Marcella was faithful that Durant would live up to it.

All had been going well for Marcella — that was, up until she left the girls changing room and found Roman stood in the direct centre of the path that went up to the school. She frowned. It was clear he'd been waiting there in an effort to ambush her. 

"Marcie, can we talk?"

"I'm busy," she announced, purposely having her shoulder collide with his as she pushed her way past. Like a relentless child unable to take no for an answer — funnily enough, just what he had claimed her to be — Roman followed after her. "Leave me alone."

"Just hear me out, please?"

"I'd really rather not." Marcella thought she was being notably polite, especially considering how little he deserved from her. In her mind, it would be just to let every insult, every callous-laced thought she'd ever had about him, every little piece of pent up anger that felt like an unstoppable fire to her insides, tumble from her mouth and watch as he dealt with the aftermath of the plague that had been haunting her for months. 

"I'm so sorry, Marcie. I don't think you understand how sorry I am." There was a quiet scoff — was that really the best apology he could come up with? "Merlin's beard, Marcie, you walk so quickly. I can't keep up." Though she didn't care to turn back and face him, she sensed that there was likely a small smile lingering on his face. She recalled a time where she found his light-hearted approach to everything in life endearing. Now, the only word that came to mind was irritating.

"Good."

For someone who claimed that he was unable to keep up, Roman surely enough caught up to her. He clasped a series of fingers around her wrist, forcing her to come to an unwilling halt. "Let go," she seethed, attempting to wriggle her wrist out of his hold. 

"Promise me you won't run away, if I do?"

After a begrudging nod, Roman let go of her. It was only his touch faded that Marcella noticed how close they were though, more importantly, how long it'd been since they were last this close. She noted that much had changed about him over the summer — he was a great deal taller, for starters, his chest had widened slightly and the baby fat that once embellished his boyish cheeks had disappeared. Yet despite all that, the puppy-like look that adorned his face and softened his newly sharpened features, told Marcella that he was still very much the boy who'd established himself as her first friend in the world.

Her frown eased slightly, "if it's my forgiveness you're after, then you're going about it the worst way." Whilst she didn't want to throw their friendship away entirely, she was determined to get the reconciliation she knew she deserved from him.

"Then tell me how I get it. We have to have this out, Marcie — we have to. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't my friend anymore. Please don't tell me you'd want me out of your life over some silly comment."

"Some silly comment? Maybe it was some silly comment to you, but it was more than that to me. People laughed at me for weeks; I'd never been so embarrassed in my life! I couldn't go anywhere without everyone looking at me like I was an idiot. It wasn't some silly comment, Roman, it was hurtful. And for a long time I couldn't understand why someone I thought cared about me would hurt me like that."

"I'm an idiot, Marcie. What else can I say. Merlin knows how utterly stupid and foolish I've been." 

"Why did you do it?"

A weary sigh fell from his lips as he raised a hand to his head and ran it through his chestnut curls. It was clear to her that this was proving to be difficult for him. "After you, well, you know ... said no to going out with me, I suppose I worried that everyone would find out that you rejected me."

It seemed so incomprehensibly stupid to her, though she could sense that he had come to the same conclusion. As tempted as Marcella was to pile into him about his profoundly dense actions, she anticipated it doing far more harm than it would good. "I wouldn't have told anyone about what happened, Roman. I'm your friend, you could've trusted me."

He paused, allowing a moment to pass where he pondered on what she said. "I spent all summer thinking about how I'd make it up to you. At one point I was going to have a Howler delivered to you at breakfast with a poem about how sorry I was — how sorry I am, but then I remembered you'd probably hate me even more for making a big, showy event out of it." A small smile appeared on Marcella's face. Whilst she hadn't been pleased about him ambushing her, she certainly preferred it over the prospect of a grand public gesture. 

"We should probably get going or we'll miss the Prefects meeting," Marcella mused softly. "Walk and talk?"

"If you're happy to." 

Neither talked much on their walk back to the Castle, Roman far too fearful that he might overstep her forgiveness, and Marcella content with the thoughtfulness that the silence birthed. She knew he was aware that it would take some time for things to return to how they were before, and even then everything would never be the same. There was an unspoken yet notable hesitancy that was unlikely to disappear anytime soon.

They arrived at the Prefects common room with a few minutes to spare, though by the time they got there everyone else was already present. Marcella sat down beside Roman which consequently raised a few eyebrows from their classmates who'd become accustomed to their public feud. Even Riddle, who Marcella was certain rarely engaged futile gossip, seemed relatively intrigued.

"Well since you're all here, we can start early," Odessa, the head girl, announced, as she stood up from her seat. "As was mentioned in our first meeting on the train journey here, we're introducing an initiative to further improve house relations by having a house exclusive patrolling scheme. If you find that you have issues with your partner then you should bring it up with either Cassian or myself." Using her wand, she retrieved a piece of paper from off the table and had it float before her. "The pairs are as follows — Lyra Sykes and Griffin Fay, Auden Cheveron and Tallulah Ripley, Roman Mclaggen and Olive Hornby, Marcella Barnard and Tom Riddle." Marcella felt her breath hitch slightly. 

Lucky her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marcella and tom’s first big interaction is coming up next chapter — thank you for being patient! comments and kudos are as always appreciated<3


	4. flourishing partnerships

TOM SPARED A GLANCE AT the clock, watching in anticipation as the tiny hand drew closer towards the Seven O'Clock mark. After giving a bit of thought to it, Tom decided that out of all the girls he could've been partnered with, his outcome was rather fortunate — Hufflepuffs disgusted him, the Ravenclaw girl, Ripley, was, in his view, a glorified mudblood, and unlike Olive Hornby, Tom was sure Marcella wasn't going to obsessively fawn over him. Besides, even if he was to exclude all other reasoning, there was other perks to having Barnard as his partner. He knew he'd be lying if he said she didn't intrigue him slightly. After all, it certainly was highly unusual that someone had managed to keep up with him academically.

"Abraxas," he mused, his voice low in an effort to divert any unwanted attention. "When I asked you about Marcella Barnard at breakfast the other morning, I noticed that you seemed hesitant. You weren't holding out any information from me, I hope?"

Abraxas looked up from his Charms homework, though was careful to not meet Tom's eye. "There was something else I was meaning to tell you, yes — but I thought it was best to wait until we were away from prying ears." This intrigued Tom; perhaps finally he was going to learn something of substance rather than just trivial petty gossip. He gestured for Abraxas to continue. "Not here."

"Very well," Tom announced, slightly irritable but curious nevertheless. He got up from the sofa and followed Abraxas to a private nook in the corner of the common room. If building suspense was what Abraxas was after then he certainly had achieved it. "I do sincerely hope that you're not wasting my time here, Abraxas." He countered this with a quick shake of his head.

"People talk," Abraxas began slowly, his volume no louder than a hushed whisper, "and word has it that Barnard ancestry is not too dissimilar from your own." Tom wasn't quite sure he understood what Abraxas was trying to tell him — what he perceived him to be insinuating was no doubt impossible. Marcella Barnard was a Gryffindor, there was no way she, or her auror-ridden family for that matter, could be descendants of Slytherin.

"What are you trying to say?" Tom seethed.

Abraxas let out a hefty sigh, "well, rumour has it that the Barnards are direct descendants of Godric Gryffindor himself." His back straightened and his lips formed a tight, unbreakable seal.

"The probability of the rumour being true?"

"I could never be entirely certain, but I'd say it's high."

Many emotions were running through Tom's being and he wasn't quite sure which was the best to address first. Anger seemed the most prominent, as it usually was when it came to Tom — he was borderline fuming that after having no relation to Marcella Barnard for over four years, she had suddenly catapulted into his life and as a result, made quite the mess of things. After finally assembling all the pieces necessary to bring Slytherin's great legacy to fruition, here she was, threatening to ruin it all.

No, he wasn't going to let her.

With that decided, the scornful look on his face eased slightly. There was seven minutes remaining until he'd have to meet her for their prefect duties. Tom spared a moment to question the likelihood of being able to secure her death and the disposal of her body within the hour they had to patrol — no doubt he could do it with ease, but meddling Dumbledore would waste no time in rightly pointing the finger of blame at him. He didn't waste any time imagining the harsh nature of the punishment that would follow for killing the old fool's most beloved student. Instead, Tom decided, he would approach the situation with the clever and cunning traits his great house was famed for. While she possessed traits that he considered rare for her gender, she was still a girl nevertheless, and he imagined that it wouldn't be too difficult to have her transfixed like water in his hands.

"I need to go," Tom announced, swiftly making his way out of the common room without another word.

He found Marcella waiting where they'd arranged to meet, her eyes seemingly everywhere but where Tom wanted them to be. She'd swapped her school jumper for a large burgundy sweater, too large, he decided, for it to be explicitly hers. He noted that her fingers were toying with the frayed edges of the sweater — was she bored, perhaps? Tom didn't consider her as the type to be easily thwarted by nerves.

"Good evening, Barnard." She seemed startled by his presence, clearly previously unaware of his nearing presence. "I trust that you're well?"

She eyed him curiously, as though he were some unknown creature from a foreign. There was a certain boldness to her stare — Tom couldn't decide whether he was irritated by it or in slight admiration of it. He watched intently as she eased slightly, a small smile taking form on her lips. "I am, thank you. What about you?"

"Very. Shall we begin?" Marcella nodded and without sparing another glance Tom's way, began down the corridor. She was a lot quieter than Tom had perceived her to be though perhaps that was because the ice had yet to break between them. "I heard you made it onto the Quidditch team, congratulations."

"I didn't peg you as the type to take any interest in the sport." That's because he wasn't. He'd only mentioned it because he knew from Abraxas that it was something he liked. If conversing was an art, then Tom was, without a singly doubt in his mind, one of the best painters for miles — he knew that if he wanted to earn Marcella's trust then he would first have to appease to her.

"Truthfully the sport has never appealed to me, personally, but I like to think I've always been able to recognise credit where it's due." She nodded, mulling his words over with a raspy hum. They turned the corner and continued down the next corridor. Tom was usually one to bask in the delicate beauty of silence but couldn't help but notice the brash ugliness of it that had all of a sudden become apparent to him. He felt as though he had to say something, had to get her to say something. "I've noticed that Slughorn has become quite enamoured with you."

It was bold, especially so for him, but if his intuition about her was correct then he imagined she would appreciate it. "Don't fret, I have no plans to steal any of his affection for you." Tom feigned a chuckle, as if she ever could even if she tried.

"Perhaps. Though even if it's not intentional, I sense that his admiration for your is growing more by the day. Not that I don't understand, of course; I would be surprised if anyone with eyes didn't. You're very beautiful, Marcella." Had it been anyone else, Tom would've been certain that comment would've entirely sealed the deal, rendering her in complete awe of him — he knew the power the velvet tone that laced his voice held.

Marcella just laughed.

"Are you saying that Slughorn only cares for my good looks? Do I need to remind you of my potions score, Riddle?" No, he thought to himself bitterly. He could feel his jaw tighten.

"How could I forget?" Tom paused, determined to not let his irritableness get the better the better of him. "Were all of your test results as golden as your potions?"

"I doubt I'll be overtaking you any time soon, if that's what you're asking." While she was technically correct, and that was the knowledge he was really after, he still would've preferred a less vague answer. A copy of her results, perhaps? That should suffice. "Minister of Magic is all yours. I have no desire to ever play politics."

"I do wish Slughorn would stop telling people that."

"Really?" She seemed genuinely shocked. "Why?"

"It closes more doors than it opens. I'd like to keep my options wide," Tom mused. It was likely the most sincere thing he'd said to her that evening. Marcella nodded though she only partially understood what he meant — after all, her future had been decided on a long time ago. "What about you? I heard that Kyros Evander offered you an apprenticeship."

"It was very kind of him to do so but I turned it down." Tom quirked an eyebrow, quite curious as to the reason why. Whilst she certainly didn't strike him as a fool he couldn't seem to come to a viable conclusion. "I plan to become an auror."

"Ah — just like your family?"

"Yes," she answered, the pace of her voice cautiously slow and notable hesitancy lacing her tone. "I wasn't aware that you — "

"I've read Matilda Barnard's book. She is a relation of yours, no?" Marcella nodded, confirming what Tom was already sure of. "I took it out at some point last year; a great read, truly." Another lie, of course — he'd taken it out of the library after reading about Matilda in the prophet at breakfast on Saturday morning — though undoubtedly less damning than when he'd announced her beauty. "And you want to be just like her?" 

Marcella was quite unsure of what to make of Tom's questioning though believed it would be foolish to take it entirely at face-value. The sudden express in interest certainly seemed odd; after all, this had to be the first interaction she'd had with him in which it was just the two of them. She recalled the Prefect's meeting on the Hogwarts Express, specifically how his eyes had flashed with such poignant rage, and the first night back when she stumbled into him, how quickly he'd been willing to draw his wand. Now she was even more curious as to what he'd been up to. "I suppose." She said, attempting to enrich her voice with the velvet tone Tom had attempted to use on her earlier. You're beautiful, Marcella, he'd told her — as if she was going to fall for that? No, she was not anywhere near as shallow as he obviously thought her to be. "Say, Riddle, since we're getting to know each other, would you care to indulge me in a question of my own." He made a welcoming gesture, as if to say ask away. "Perhaps you don't remember, but you and I had a little altercation on our first night here. I was just a bit curious as to where you were going."

"If I remember correctly I could ask you the same thing."

"Ah, but I asked first." Tom remained silent, attempting to disguise his quickly blowing fuse with a feigned smile. He was struggling more than he cared to admit. "So it was something bad?"

"I didn't say that."

"Silence speaks louder than words, Riddle."

"I don't appreciate being interrogated, Barnard."

"As if you weren't just interrogating me?" Tom couldn't help but let an irritable sigh fall from his lips. This was proving to be much harder than he'd anticipated. "Have you learnt everything you wanted to know about me, Riddle? Am I good enough to be considered your competition?"

No, he thought to himself, you're just annoying.

"Marcella, I think you've got quite the wrong idea of things — "

"Did you get all you wanted to know?" Tom was half tempted to ask her if she was related to Godric Gryffindor right then and there. At least the matter would've been sealed and he wouldn't have to endure another moment in her company.

"I think it's best we conquer and divide." Tom said, ignoring her question entirely. He wasn't prepared to waste any more on his time on her, feeling fed and fearing the consequences of her further irritating him. "You take the first floor, I'll take the second."

Much like when he'd left Abraxas in the common room earlier, Marcella swiftly began down the corridor without sparing Tom a second glance — her head held high and her stride oozing with effortless pride.

"JUDE, ARE YOU OKAY?" Marcella inquired, her large blue eyes soft with concern for her best friend. He'd been complaining of a headache since Divination that morning but the pain now seemed so dire that he could barely afford to keep his eyes open. "I think we should take you to the hospital wing."

"Yeah, you seriously don't look well."

He feigned a quick smile, "we can't all be as good looking as you, Dahlia." Neither girl laughed at his attempt to make light of the situation, far too worried about him to even consider joking about it. "No, I don't need the hospital wing. I'll be fine." Dahlia and Marcella both went to shoot the other a disbelieving look.

They continued to hover close to Jude's side as they entered the potions classrooms, both watching him cautiously as though he'd crumble instantly if they dared to look away. Jude had almost made it to his seat when he felt his knees buckle, consequently losing balance and tumbling slightly. Had it not been for Marcella's quick reflexes then he likely would've fallen to the floor.

"That's it, I'm taking you to the hospital wing." The tone of Marcella's voice was far too forceful for anyone — even Jude, who seemed weirdly insistent on making it through potions class — to question it. After using one arm to ensure he didn't fall over again and the other to throw her bag to Dahlia, she began to lead him back towards the classroom door.

They would've made it out of the classroom far quicker had they not run into Slughorn in the very door frame. "Miss Barnard, is everything okay — Merlin!" Slughorn's eyes instantly widened when he spotted Jude. He spent a moment aimlessly stuttering before announcing,"you're looking awfully pale, Mr Delaney."

"Could I take him to the hospital wing, sir?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Of course. I hope you feel better soon, Mr Delaney." Marcella had already pushed him ahead before Jude'd had the chance to thank the potions professor for his well wishes. It was in moments like these that she was thankful for her unusually long legs — if she hadn't been so tall then it would've been considerably harder to support his weight.

"Don't think he's ever said my name so many times," Jude mumbled, his west country accent particularly apparent. "Think I ought to get sick more often?"

She tightened her grip on him. "Don't you dare."

"I got a few headaches like these over the summer but none of them were this bad. It feels like someone is trapped inside my head and they're desperately trying to break their way out." Marcella brought her hand up to his hair and slowly ran it through his sandy locks. She doubted that there was much she could do personally to help ease the pain but hoped that the action would be serve as better consolation than any pitying words she could offer him.

When they first arrived at the hospital wing, Ulysses, the school matron, was unable to identify what exactly was wrong with him. Marcella stood awkwardly at his bedside and listened intently as he relayed his symptoms to her."It's kind of like this shooting pain in my head and I suppose my vision's a bit blurry too. I had some trouble standing up properly, my legs are a bit weak."

"And how long did you say you've been having these headaches?"

"Since about July — around the time of my birthday, I guess." She returned to his bed with a vial of something, presumably from the deep blue colour of the liquid, a Calming Draught.

"How peculiar," Ulysses mused as she pulled out a spare piece of parchment and began to take notes. "You can run to class now, Marcella. I think I'll keep Jude in here for the rest of the day to do some more tests. I'd prefer it if you didn't visit at lunch, it's best he spends that time resting, but if you'd like you can come visit him after your classes finish."

"You'll come see me later, won't you?"

"Of course." Marcella gave his hand one final squeeze before turning to make her way out of the hospital wing.

The walk back to the dungeons seemed notably shorter without having to carry any extra weight. A large part of her had hoped Ulysses would've allowed her to stay with Jude. She always got terribly worried whenever Jude came down with something, be it Scrofungulus or the common cold. It had been the beginning of their second year when Jude explained to her that his mother had passed away when he was six years old. It was a rare condition she'd suffered with and the Healers didn't know enough about it at the time to help her. It scared her to think of the possibility that such a thing could be passed down.

When Marcella entered the potions classrooms for a second time that day, the entirety of the class had already split off into pairs with each tending to a separate cauldron. "Miss Barnard, is everything okay with your friend?" Slughorn inquired almost upon her return.

"I hope so, sir."

"Me too. Well, I doubt he'd want us to dwell on it in the meantime?" Marcella found the idea of Slughorn knowing what Jude would want hilarious and was certain Jude would think the same. "Today I'm having you brew Alihotsy Draught in pairs — perhaps you remember the potion from your exam last year?" She nodded meanwhile simultaneously scanning the room for Dahlia, who, much to Marcella's annoyance, had been paired up with Abraxas Mafloy in her absence. "Don't fret, Miss Barnard. Mr Riddle hasn't got a partner. Tom?"

Tom, who'd been listening to their conversation and had been waiting in eery anticipation for this moment to arise, turned to them, his lips upturned in a perfectly charming smile. "Yes, sir?"

"No, it's okay. I wouldn't want to disturb Tom — "

"Nonsense! You'd be happy to have Marcella be your partner, wouldn't you, Tom?"

"Why, I'd be delighted." Her glare sharpened.

"Then it's settled." Slughorn announced with a cheery grin, clearly more than happy to pretend he hadn't orchestrated the whole thing entirely. "I look forward to seeing what you produce — great things, I have no doubt." Attempting to hold back her begrudging sigh, Marcella went over to where Tom was and sat down in the empty seat beside him.

"I won't ruin your potion, don't worry."

"I was never worried." Tom supposed it was truthful. While he certainly didn't fancy spending more time with her, it would be wrong of him to overlook her obvious potions abilities. There was still the question of her heritage lingering in the back of his mind. "Didn't you hear what I said about being delighted?"

A low chuckle fell from her lips, "Because that was definitely sincere."

"It offends me that you question my sincerity."

"Like it offended you when I asked where you were the first night of school?" Marcella didn't wait for his response, instead opting to stand up and tend to the potion. Thankfully she wasn't in need of her potions textbook — which was stuck at the bottom of the bag she'd thrown to Dahlia earlier — and could remember the instructions from when she'd had to memorise it for last years exams, just as Slughorn had anticipated. "Could you please pass me the alihotsy leaves?" He silently obliged, their fingers briefly touching in the passover.

"I don't like the feeling of being interrogated," he remarked. His eyes were still focused intently on her stirring and ensuring that she was making no errors. "As I'm sure you don't either."

"So you finally admit to interrogating me?"

He laughed. Her never-ending incessant nature was quite astounding. "Now, I didn't say that, did I? She shrugged her shoulders and returned to stirring the potion. "Stop!" Tom suddenly exclaimed, his voice low enough as to not draw any unwanted attention. "What are you doing?"

"Stirring." She continued to mix with the rod, taking no notice at his call for her to stop.

"I can see that," he focused on drawing our his words in an attempt to diffuse the irritation that laced his tone. "You're going far too fast."

"Okay, then, Mr Perfect. You do it yourself." Happily, Tom thought bitterly to himself, as he took the rod from her and began to stir. He wondered if he'd ever had the honour of working with someone so unnecessarily difficult. "See!You're doing it at the exact same speed I was doing it at!"

"Trust me, I'm not."

From the rich purple color the potion was beginning to transform, Marcella sensed that it was time to add the Castor Beans. She collected a handful from the pot before placing her hand directly above the cauldron and crushing. "You're supposed to cut them."

"I know," she retorted, allowing the juice to seep into the potion. "But if you crush them you get more juice out of them and that's what you want, the juice. The bean's skin is just excess." He took a moment to ponder on what she'd said. It made perfect sense and annoyed Tom that he hadn't thought of it before.

As the bean juice disappeared into the boiling liquid, it began to take on a bright blue colour. If they'd done it correctly, like both were certain they had, smoke would soon enough rise from the cauldron and force the entire room into a laughing frenzy. "Sir, we're done," she announced, falling back onto her stall.

"Oh, really? Fantastic! Let's see." Almost as though he'd apparated, Slughorn arrived beside them within seconds. He used his wand to transport the contents of cauldron to an empty vial before lifting the vial close to his eye-line and studying it careful. "Wonderful, truly very wonderful. One drop and I have no doubt we'd all be laughing ourselves silly. An excellent team, just as I'd imagine. I think I'll have to have you two working together more often."

Marcella and Tom both spared a glance to the other, a shared look of prideful recognition lingering behind each of their stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh so that was much longer than i anticipated. let me know your thoughts if you have any!


	5. fainting parties

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Dahlia ... happy birthday to you!" The large group of Gryffindors that had gathered around Dahlia cheered as she leant in to blow out the candle on her birthday cake. The loudest of the cheers undoubtedly belonged to Marcella and Jude, both of whom were sat beside her.

"Make a wish, D?" Darius Weasley inquired from the other side of the table, his arms being used to prop him up and offer him a closer view of the action. 

"Yes," she announced, removing the candle from the cake before cutting into it. He quirked a brow, imploring her to relay what it was. "I can't tell you now, can I? If I do then it won't come true. Cake, Marcie?"

Marcella gave her best friend an eager nod. "Cake for breakfast — scrumptious." Almost immediately after the cake had landed on her plate she tucked in. It was only fair that Marcella got the first piece following Dahlia's considering all the trouble she went through to organise the cake. "When do you want to open your presents?" As the question was leaving her lips she simultaneously caught a glimpse of an arm reaching out across the table and stealing a portion of her cake. "Roman!"

He quickly scoffed the portion of cake in his mouth, offering her a pleading guilty smile as some sort of reparation. "That's some delicious cake." Though Marcella'd been right to assume that it would be impossible to go back to how they were before, Roman was certainly making his best effort to return some semblance of how they had been. Despite making his intentions to revive their friendship to it's most glory clear, he was still cautious as to not overstep any boundaries — something of which Marcella was appreciative of.

"Why don't we do it after the party?" Jude suggested, a response to the question Marcella had posed prior to Roman's treacherous act of thievery.

"But that's so long away!" 

"Patience is a keen art," Marcella remarked, shovelling the final bite of cake into her mouth. "Wouldn't hurt you to practice."

"You spend far too much time with Cosimo — you're starting to talk like he does. I don't like it." She shrugged her shoulders, quite impartial to the matter either way. With her cake finished, Marcella placed her cutlery down and began to get up. "Where are you going?" Dahlia instantly inquired.

"To say happy birthday to your darling brother and give him his present." 

"Betrayal!" Dahlia cried, her voice laced with feigned outrage and her finger pointed accusingly at Marcella. "You're willing to give him his present now but no," she purposely drew the vowel out, "not me! I have to learn the art of patience!"

"Well, if I can convince him to come to the party later then I won't have to give it to him now." 

"Marcella Phoenix Barnard, don't you dare! I mean it, Marcie, don't you dare! Don't you — " She silenced her best friend by blowing a final parting kiss before turning to make her way over to the Ravenclaw table.

Had Marcella not known for a fact that it was Griffin's birthday then she wouldn't have suspected the day to be anything special considering how he looked. His head was buried in a book, seemingly oblivious to all the other going ons in the great hall that morning. It was in moments like these where their acute differences were at their most apparent. A smile appeared on her face as she slid into the seat next to him. "Hey there, birthday boy."

"Oh, Marcie." He shut his book and placed it down on the table. As his focus transferred to her, and to her entirely, Marcella noticed the never-ending glimmer in his eye catch her gaze. "It's wonderful to see you, I feel like we haven't had a proper conversation in eons!"

"Yes, it's been too long, hasn't it?"

"I was beginning to think that my sister had been holding you captive. She missed you so terribly over the summer holidays, you know?"

"Well, I missed her lots too," she paused for a moment before flashing Griffin a large smile, "and you as well, of course."

He laughed; a joyous and airy sound, that very much mirrored how Marcella envisioned clouds to feel. She couldn't imagine ever growing tired of conversing with Griffin — he was always so refreshing to be around. "How have you been finding your Prefect duties?"

Instinctively, Marcella's gaze shot to the Slytherin table and landed on her partner and before she could truly comprehend what was happening, his eyes met hers like some odd twist of fate had alerted him of her looking. He sent her an inquisitive look, posing the question of why she'd glanced his way. He received no answer; instead, Marcella chose to divert her stare.

"Pleasant enough, I suppose," she answered quickly, hoping it would distract her from the mishap that had just occurred. "I would've much preferred to have been partnered with you."

"Really? I imagine people would kill to be partnered with Riddle. Do you not like him?" The last part was spoken no louder than a whisper; the idea of Riddle being disliked seemed almost blasphemous to Griffin.

"I'm not too sure how I feel about him yet." It was truthful, Marcella supposed. She didn't entirely dislike him yet she was pretty certain that she wasn't particularly keen on him either. "Though enough about me! It's your special day, after all — what kind of monster would I be if I stole all your glory?" She revealed the hand she'd been hiding behind her back, and in turn, the poorly-wrapped present she'd had clasped inside it. "Your present."

"You seriously didn't have — "

"Shut up and open it."

"Okay, okay! Dahlia's bossiness is rubbing off on you." He picked up his present and began to tear at the paper, eventually revealing the fancy quill and ink set Marcella had purchased. His eyes widened as he marvelled at the gift. "Marcie, it's gorgeous!"

"Apparently the ink's Venetian, Merlin knows whatever that means — I just thought it sounded fancy." It hardly mattered seeing as as soon as Marcella finished speaking, Griffin flung his arms around her. "Good present, huh?"

"You're the best."

"Obviously," Marcella remarked, rolling her eyes. "But do you know how you could properly repay me for being the best?" Griffin eyed her curiously though shook his head. "By coming to the party we've organised in the Gryffindor common room tonight."

"Marcie!" A frown etched itself on his lips. "How can you expect me to condone such rule-breaking? How can you condone such rule-breaking? We're prefects now."

"Oh come on, Griffin, it'll be fun!"

"I can't possibly come; I'm sorry, I can't. We can hang out some other way though! How does a fun study date in the library sound?"

Marcella didn't have the heart to tell him how not fun that sounded. "That sounds great. Though, I probably better get going back — I image Dahlia'll hex me if I'm not back soon." 

"Thank you again for the present."

"How did that go?" Dahlia asked as soon as Marcella slid back into her regular seat. "Did he'd say he'd come to the party?"

"No, he — "

"Urgh!" Marcella's eyes instantly widened at Dahlia's sudden outburst of emotion. Where in Merlin's name had that come from? Loudly huffing and puffing, Dahlia reluctantly reached for the final slice of cake and passed it to Jude. "So stupid!"

"Told you he wouldn't come," Jude announced with a smug smile — or as smug a smile as Jude could produce — before beginning to tuck into his cake. "Victory is sweet but this cake is sweeter."

Whilst the same certainly couldn't currently he said for Dahlia, who looked ready to kill somebody, Marcella was happy to see Jude being more lively in light of all he was dealing with. His headaches had become a more frequent occurrence since she'd taken him to the hospital wing but the matron ensured he took a pain-relieving potion with his breakfast each morning to relieve him from the worst of it. As to the cause behind it, they were all as clueless as they had been back in September. Even Dumbledore, who Marcella was once certain knew everything, didn't know what to make of it.

It was the worst kind of mystery — in its wake, leaving Marcella's mind an irreversible whirl.

"WE LIKE TO DRINK WITH Marcie, 'cause Marcie is our mate! And when we drink with Marcie, she gets it down in 7 ... 6 ... 5 ... 4." Marcella rushed to force the fire whiskey down her throat, relishing in the burning sensation that the liquid left. "3 ... 2 ... 1!" Just as they chanted the final number, she flung the empty glass onto the table and threw her back in victory. Despite this being one her first common room parties — Cosimo had pretty much forbidden her from attending them in her first three years at the school — Marcella had proved herself to be one of the most capable competitive drinks in the entirety of the house.

"Upstaging me at my own birthday party!" Dahlia announced, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout and her words slurred beyond belief. "You're the worst best friend in the world."

An effortlessly nonchalant chuckle fell from Marcella's rosy lips, "I'm also the one who planned this birthday party, don't get too ahead of yourself." Dahlia rolled her eyes. She'd already expressed her gratitude to Marcella for organising the party multiple times that evening and didn't think thanking her again was necessary. "How about I get you another drink to make up for it?"

Dahlia gave a loud cheer, though in turn, ended up losing her footing and stumbled slightly. If it hadn't been for Marcella, she most likely would've fallen to the fallen. "Oops! Clumsy me! I'll have another butter beer, pls!"

Getting Dahlia another Butterbeer seemed like a very poor idea to Marcella, who'd come to the conclusion that two glasses of water were the optimal way forward. "Okay, Buddy. Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."

As she walked off towards the drink table, Marcella found herself wondering exactly how many butter beers one had to drink to become that drunk. To her, it seemed like quite the incredible feet. That thought was quickly buried when her eyes caught size of Betty Lightbody, the Ravenclaw Seeker, pouring herself a glass of butterbeer.

"Lightbody, I'm surprised to see you here; thought you'd be driving yourself crazy trying to ready yourself for Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw." Betty looked up to Marcella, a giddy smile beginning to adorn her face. She laughed.

"You're a cocky bastard, Barnard — has anyone ever told you that?"

Marcella offered her a shrug. Unbeknownst to Betty, her mind was plagued with thoughts detailing how much she liked the way her thick Northern accent wrapped itself around her every word. And her tongue, too — the way it trailed along her lips once she'd finished speaking. It took her back to the days of third year, where the Ravenclaw Seeker had consumed her every fleeting daydream. Marcella hated the word crush but there was doubt that it had been one.

"I don't want to make your head even bigger but you did a great job at planning this party. I've had a good time."

"Well, I'm glad."

Marcella's eyes drifted back to Betty, watching as she raised the glass of butterbeer to her mouth and took a sip. She thought back to Dahlia and how she'd promised to return quickly. Could she not afford to stay for a little longer? "Water? You're not loosing your edge are you?"

"Don't worry my edge is still very much intact."

"I'm not sure if I believe you." Marcella drew closer to her.

I could show you if you'd like. 

Much to Marcella's dismay, any further interaction that would've indicated Betty's returning affections was brought to a swift halt by a loud cough that came from behind them. Marcella didn't have to turn around to know who it was. "Hey, girls."

"Mclaggen." Betty's features stiffened slightly.

"Know the name, know the game — am I right?" Marcella offered a quite chuckle, mostly for the sake of soothing the already extremely awkward atmosphere. "Nice to see you here though, Lightbody. I'd thought that Ravenclaw would be making you utilise all the time you've got before our big game. I'll admit, it'd be nice to have some competition this year."

"Fuck you." Whilst Betty's jest at Marcella's remark, which had been notably similar to Roman's, was seemingly said in good-humour, this appeared plain bitter. He held his hands up in mocking defence. "I don't know if you've heard, Mclaggen, but we got a new beater — she's going to absolutely destroy your sorry arse."

"Will she now?" After receiving complete silence from both Betty and Marcella, Roman turned to the latter and offered her an open hand. "Allow me to bewitch you with my magnificent dancing skills?"

How terribly she wanted to say no.

Marcella glanced to Betty, sympathy lacing her stare. The Ravenclaw Seeker just shrugged her shoulders. Go for it, she was saying. Betty downed the remainder of her drink before giving Marcella a clap on the back. "I'll see you around, Barnard."

"Come on, Marcie, don't leave me standing. It would be terribly rude of you."

"I promised Dahlia I'd be back quickly."

"Dahlia can survive for two minutes. You're not her babysitter."

A small smile etched itself onto her lips, signally her defeat. He cheered slightly as she placed her hand on top of his. "I suppose I wouldn't want you to think of me as terribly rude."

The lively, fast-paced music that echoed loudly in the Gryffindor, accompanied by the buzz she'd received from downing the fire whisky, made dancing with Roman rather pleasurable. So pleasurable, in fact, that as he twirled her underneath his arm for what must've been the dozenth time since he'd led her away doing the drink table, her determination to quickly return to Dahlia had been forgotten about.

"You must give my compliments to whoever planned this party," Roman shouted, though his voice could barely be heard over the music. Her feet were now beginning to burn with the consequence of dancing for such a long period of time. "They did a marvellous job."

"I'll try to pass them on."

Roman took hold of her arm and spun her around again. "Do you remember when we went to your uncle Alaric's wedding in France? We must've been, I don't know, like maybe six? Perhaps, seven even. We'd been told by our parents to go to bed but neither of were tired, so we stayed up and danced in the hallways instead. I'll admit, I wasn't as good of a dancer back then as I am now. I didn't know where to place my feet. You ended up tripping over them and fell to the floor — the whole discourse ended up making a very loud noise, so, of course, people came out from the ballroom to look. My Ma'm was laughing like crazy. 'They'll be getting married next,' she joked, didn't she? But you weren't having any of it. Oh, how you got up from the floor — I don't think I'll ever forget what you told me next."

"Never, because Roman's far too snotty for me."

There was little time for the two of them to relish in the joy of the memory, instead, they were cut short by the deafening sound of something hitting the floor with a loud thump.

"Jude!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh 


End file.
